Harmonic Motion

posted in: Flash Fiction, Uncategorized | 0

Home from the funeral, rather, the celebration of life. Kyla stretched over the tub, four-clawed, antique, and turned the brass faucets hard right. The hot and cold, in the end, would even out. This tub, a secondary reason for her choice of this apartment, in the old Victorian.
Tom was dead.
How? Life coursed through that man, his death the sour taste of bile. Pancreatic cancer claimed him. New cases of this trickster cancer outpacing others. An incurable torture provided by the wretched warrior.
Blame this day, as if it were a remedy, was meted out. Sunken, swollen eyes, desperation in ever word, Tom’s wife addressed the crowd, Tom’s friends and family. She spoke with vehemence against GMOs, Monsanto and pesticides. The body is not meant to sustain.
Silk slid across skin. Kyla hung her robe on the hook. Naked, goose-bumps raised on her flesh. The result of ocean breezes flowing through the window, just beyond the tub. The wavy-glassed window was mounted on ropes to open and close. This window, big blue just beyond, the first reason for her apartment choice, never ceased to amaze her body. Nature’s caresses always new and exciting.
The water, hot and oily with perfumed bath salts, Kyla eased in, and sank to her neck. Surrendering to the warm abyss, the water claimed her. Weightless now, she let go, grief drifted.
Those bottomless blue eyes, sandy tousled hair. Always a smile, gleaming, a flirtatious wink. Tom and Kyla shared an animal bond, never acted upon, always acknowledged. Knowing the fire resulting from even the most casual sexual encounter would burn both their lives.
The last time Kyla saw him, before he was sick. Visits after the diagnosis, weren’t allowed; Expose the lion weak, he would not suffer that. Kyla had stopped by. It was one of those days where clouds dominated the sky, threatening to expose the sun, momentarily blinding judgement.
She found Tom in the garage. He sorted through a cardboard box. Quick conversation revealed there was an imminent charity drop.
A Slinky in his hands, he bounced the toy from hand to hand as he explained, those large elegant hands. Giddy from the sound, Kyla snatched the toy making for the back deck stairs, memories of youth. They played, like kids.
The nub beneath Kyla’s open legs grew plump, ripened. The motion of the water around her self-pleasure heightened each sensation.
“Harmonic motion,” Tom explained. “Like how the waves work.” The toy descended the stairs with the grace of a ballerina, down two stairs, then four, then all twelve. “That in combination with gravitational forces.” Tom picked up the Slinky, bounded back up the stairs to do it all over again.
Kyla moved with purpose now, fingers focused, muscles contracting, tense. The ripples in the water tickling, teased her skin.
Her insides sprung. The perfect release of tension set the water in motion, longitudinal waves lapped at her, repeating energy. His voice filled her head.
“Harmonic motion.”
The words took on a whole new meaning.

Leave a Reply